Mine Tonight
by St. Harridan
Summary: Jushiro never thought it would come this far. The fights, the tongue-lashings, the silent midnight tears... Just what have they gotten themselves into?


Jushiro couldn't concentrate. The _Seireitei Communication_ was wide open in his lap, and he knew that it was stupid of him for holding it so tightly. His knuckles burned stark white against his already pale skin, as if his brain was trying to tell him that he still couldn't let it go. Let the matter go.

He never knew that it would ever come down to this. Although it was clear that the bond between the both of them was turning brittle, thin and fragile as glass, Jushiro had thought that they would overcome it. Thought that they could go through this like it was just yet another troublesome obstacle. But no, it seemed like he was wrong.

As Jushiro sat there in his armchair, hearing the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the clock upon the wall ticked away the empty seconds. He couldn't even feel the heat from the fire, his skin numb as if a cold had just struck him. There was a tightening in his throat that he had never experienced before. He didn't like it, but no matter how he wished that he could get rid of it, he couldn't. The only person who could make his worries, his anxiety, vanish, was not here.

The words Jushiro had said still haunted him. He could hear them, phrase after angry phrase shouted in the heat of the moment.

_You're a damn nuisance._

_Get out of my face._

_I hate you._

All those words that he never imagined coming out of his own mouth. It all sounded so wrong to him now as he mulled over it. Back then, when he was staring daggers at the man before him, he had thought that everything he was saying was right. He'd thought that he was the one in power, the one whose proclamations should be taken as fact. But now he knew that what he'd blurted out was nothing short of accusing. It was something that he couldn't take back no matter how hard he tried. Time couldn't reverse itself nor could it be reversed. Time only ticked by, and Jushiro was now a victim of it.

He looked up, gazed across the living room to the door of his Ugendo. To think that he'd given up everything just for this. To think that he'd given up his love, his heart, his whole damn life just so he could have more time for his work. It was ridiculous, and though it was already three days since he first saw eye to eye with the man, Jushiro felt like this silence had been going on forever. But despite the lack of communication, Jushiro had been secretly monitoring the Eleventh Division's activities through the service of his trusted best friend, Shunsui, as well as the ever efficient Lieutenant Ise. The Eleventh had been going out for hollow-hunting missions more frequently then usual since last Jushiro saw its captain. Each time Jushiro would clasp his hands together and pray so that they would come home safely. So that he would return in one piece.

At the back of his mind, Jushiro knew that he didn't have to pray. There was no need. The Eleventh was made up of beasts, and its captain, as far as Jushiro was aware, had absolutely no intention of ever losing to some "weak-ass pansies."

Still, Jushiro wished that he could see him. Touch him. Do all those things that they used to do. Back in the days, everything seemed so perfect. Just to be within his arms, wrapped in his warm, comforting embrace was bliss itself. But Jushiro didn't cherish those moments enough. He was only capable of pushing them away, even denying them at some points. He was aware of how horrid that made him look, but he was a shinigami. A captain, nonetheless. He couldn't risk his reputation just so he could indulge himself.

And that mindset had ruined him, turned him into nothing but a miserable individual capable of only sitting by the fire with an old magazine, awaiting the second when his lover would come by and whisk him away.

A knock on the door jerked Jushiro out of his trance just as he was about to stamp the idea as impossible. He looked up, raised an eyebrow. The second-hand struck midnight as Jushiro rose to his feet and cautiously stepped towards the door. He could hear the beating of his heart in his ears, feel the thumps as they threatened to tear open his chest. Part of him hoped that his wish would come true. Still, there was a small voice within him that whispered cons of such a reunion.

Jushiro wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, the cold of the metal digging deep into his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut just as another knock sounded, this time rougher, harder, more insistent. He could tell who it was, but by all the gods, however much he hoped his guess was right, he just couldn't bear another coarse encounter.

Before he was even ready, Jushiro swung the door open. And there, before his very eyes, stood none other than the man who had been plaguing his thoughts all this while.

"Zaraki." The name only came out in a hitched whisper, Jushiro trying hard to suppress the bag of mixed emotions in his heart. There was irritation, anger and hatred, but above all, there was hope. There was relief and longing, all those things Jushiro felt whenever he found himself missing his partner.

Kenpachi's hair was messed up, his long dark strands hanging loose now instead of being styled up with bells. The only clothes upon his back was a shihakusho, and that too didn't fit on well. It hung loose, the hakama sliding a little ways down past his hips as if he had just thrown it on in the spur of a moment. The obi, too, was out of shape. There was an empty glass bottle in his hand, and Jushiro could smell the familiar stink of alcohol emanating from his being.

"Zaraki," Jushiro said, voice now much more leveled, controlled. Despite that, Jushiro wanted so much to just reach out and run his fingers through Kenpachi's hair, bury his face in those loose strands, hug him close. But he restrained himself, embarrassment catching up with him as he remembered the words that left his lips just three days ago. He swallowed hard as Kenpachi fixated a piercing gaze upon him, grey eyes boring deep into his own green ones. The alcohol seemed to have clouded over his vision, but when he spoke, he sounded more sober than drunk. But Jushiro could swear that the statement came from a drunkard.

"I wanna sleep with ye tonight."

Jushiro blinked in confusion, staring at him through wide eyes. "Ex...excuse me?"

But Kenpachi was already shoving his way into the room as if it was nothing unnatural. Jushiro held down his protests, closing the door behind him. He leaned back and watched, nursing his racing heart, as Kenpachi dropped the bottle on the couch where Jushiro had been sitting. And then he turned to address Jushiro, and Jushiro now knew that he was not at all drunk. That what he'd said had meaning.

He swallowed again, withstanding Kenpachi's scrutinizing gaze as his eyes roamed all over Jushiro's body until they came to rest upon his face.

"What do you want?" Jushiro forced himself to speak around the constriction in his throat. It was only by luck that he didn't stutter and choke. _You're a shinigami captain, for Yamamoto's sake! You're not supposed to be this way!_

Kenpachi advanced towards him, marched up to him until they were as close as they always had been back in the days. With his two hands Kenpachi pinned Jushiro's wrists to either side of him, glaring down at him like he was coming to tear his life away.

"I want ye back." It was just a low growl, but the words carried so much yearning that Jushiro, ashamed of himself, squeezed his eyes shut to avoid returning Kenpachi's gaze. It was hard enough having him here, and to put up with his persistence was just too much for Jushiro to bear.

But Kenpachi was having none of that. He gripped Jushiro's wrists and pinned them to either side of his head. He raked his nails up his palms, forcing Jushiro's fists open, until their fingers were intertwined.

"No, you don't," Jushiro heard himself say through gritted teeth. "You don't. I know you don't. Just…don't force yourself to do this. I know you don't want to. Stop it, Zara-"

"Shut up," Kenpachi hissed, cutting through Jushiro's incoherencies. "After what ye said to me? Yeah, I was pissed as fuck. Didn't know ye had it in ye to keep on goin' like that. But still…" Now Jushiro could see his features softening just the slightest bit, the anger within his gaze melting away into a longing that Jushiro had burning inside him all this while. "Y'know the feelin' ye get whenever ye think that someone's left ye for good? Ye can't eat, ye can't sleep. Everythin' 'round ye feels like some fucked up hell. I hate it." Kenpachi withdrew, backed away. Jushiro had to fight down the urge to grab him and pull him back. "Spent my days just signing shit off paperwork, watchin' Yachiru beat the fuck out of 'em ass wipes. And I get that feelin' every goddamn time. Just a while ago I sat down by myself, had somethin' to drink, and wondered just how the hell was I gonna get rid of that shitty feelin'. Then I thought 'bout ye." Kenpachi now had his back to Jushiro. He shrugged, the motion causing the right side of his shihakusho to fall off his shoulder, exposing the tanned, scarred flesh of his muscular upper arm.

Jushiro bit his lower lip as a silence thick with unsaid apologies engulfed them. He found that he couldn't speak, listless, as he digested Kenpachi's claims. Just what had they gotten themselves into?

"I miss you, you know," Jushiro murmured. Kenpachi turned his head slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye. "You don't know how it's been like for me. It's been worse than hell. I don't even know what I'm doing, where I am, what I'm _supposed _to be doing. I feel like…" Jushiro squeezed his eyes shut once more, the weight of the confrontation torturous on his shoulders.

_I feel lost._

And the next thing he knew, he was pulled roughly into that familiar embrace. The scent of freshly cut grass, soil and old blood filled his senses as he buried his nose in Kenpachi's shoulder. He could feel the tears rising, threatening to spill over the edges of his eyes, but he held firm. He didn't want to appear weaker than he already allowed himself to be. He had done enough to last another hundred years.

"I'm sorry," Jushiro said through gritted teeth, his fists trembling by his sides, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. What I said… I didn't mean any of it. It's not you, it's me. My fault. I-"

"Fuck ye, shut up." Kenpachi took a fistful of Jushiro's hair and held him close, his other hand clutching the back of Jushiro's yukata to prevent him from pulling away. "Why does it always have to be 'bout ye, eh? Ye're so goddamn self-centred that ye don't even know it. This ain't just 'bout ye. It ain't 'bout me, either. It's 'bout us, okay? It's 'bout us and what we did and how we fucked things up." Kenpachi pushed Jushiro away and held him by the front of his collar, looking him straight in the eye. "If there's anyone to blame here, it's us. We didn't do shit right, we fucked up, and that got us here, where we don't wanna be. And fuck it, even if it's a fuckin' pain in the ass, we gotta fix it."

"I don't want to lose you," Jushiro whispered, lips barely moving, as if he hadn't heard Kenpachi. He couldn't tell just what was going on anymore. All he was certain of was that he didn't want Kenpachi to let him go. He wanted Kenpachi to hold him like how he used to. He wanted to kiss Kenpachi and touch him just to show to the world that he was the only person who could do such things.

Kenpachi shoved him back and pinned him to the wall, a definite glint in his eyes. Jushiro's mouth parted, his breathing steadily increasing in speed as he watched the way Kenpachi stared at his lips. There was that hunger within him, wild and eager to be fulfilled. Jushiro freed a hand from Kenpachi's grip and traced his dry, chapped lips with the tips of his fingers. With his eyes never leaving Jushiro's, Kenpachi allowed his tongue to slip out and lick those fingers oh so slowly, tasting each and every one of them as if this was their first time.

To Jushiro, it felt like it was. Only that it held faint recollections of their previous moments, the things they did together that were left unsaid whenever it came down to business. As Kenpachi leaned down to place an almost hesitant kiss to the side of his neck, Jushiro saw images of them in his mind, vivid as though he was experiencing those magical moments all over again.

Jushiro took Kenpachi's face in his hands and brought him in for a kiss. As his heated, husky breath fell upon Jushiro's lips, the whisper that was uttered just before the first piece of clothing hit the floor only sealed their reunion.

"Ye're mine tonight."


End file.
